


It's the Human Condition That Keeps us Apart

by TheLateNightStoryTeller



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explosive conversations, F/M, Fitz thinks one thing, Honesty is the best policy, Jemma thinks another, it's just a huge mess, spoilers for 3x11 (if you are avoiding promos), with eventual conflict resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLateNightStoryTeller/pseuds/TheLateNightStoryTeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 3x11. When Fitz and Jemma are locked in the isolation room, feelings erupt and they discover just how far they are from actually being able to read each other's minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Human Condition That Keeps us Apart

It had been nearly ten minutes since they’d been locked in the isolation room. Jemma had been sent to prep it for the incoming Inhuman, a precaution more than anything, and Fitz had come along to set up the cameras. However, when they’d attempted to leave, they’d found the door wouldn’t open for their key cards.

As the minutes flew on, the pair had grown increasingly frustrated, Jemma in particular transforming into a caged tiger, pacing back and forth agitatedly while Fitz watch from the couch.

Now she tried the handle again, yanking on it as if she could force the lock open. Then she swiped her key card, hissing in frustration at the reappearing red light.

“Ugh, we don’t have time for this!” she spat. “It’s been far too long already, and this isn’t working. Fitz could you…?”

“Break into it?” he guessed. He rose to his feet, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah but it may take a while.”

“Well you’d better get started then,” she urged. “If I don’t get back to the lab soon enough I’m going to need to reset my analysis. I can’t _believe_ we’re stuck in here together.”

“I’ll get it open,” he promised. “Then you won’t be stuck with me anymore.” He bit his tongue, not having intended to say that part out loud, and he saw her flinch out of the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she mumbled.

He nodded. “Of course not.” It must have sounded flat because she continued to stare at him, her eyes boring the side of his face.

“Fitz I didn’t,” she pressed. He nodded again, focusing on his work. Her breath hitched, tugging at his heart but he knew the best way to help her now was to allow her her escape from him. “Why can’t you look at me?” she asked quietly. “Why can’t you ever look at me anymore?”

“You know why Jemma,” he answered. Why did she need him to say it? Was this punishment for his actions? Maybe he deserved it…

“I don’t,” she said helplessly. “Well I… I think… I think it’s because-“

“It’s because of what I did,” he mumbled, wiggling out a wire as he spoke. “I can’t…” He blew out a staggered breath, forcing himself to face her. “I can’t stand the way you look back.”

Her eyes were bright, tears building behind them, but at that she narrowed them, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I’m not looking at you any differently. _You’re_ the one who’s acting strange. And what do you mean after what you did?”

“We don’t need to talk about this now,” he muttered, returning to work.

“When are we going to talk about it then?” she demanded. “When we’re in the lab and you have your back turned to me? When we meet in the hallway and you pretend you don’t see me?” His jaw clenched but she was relentless, striding over to stand beside him. “I’m stronger than you think,” she challenged. “Whatever it is, it isn’t going to break me.”

“Jemma you know what it is,” he shot back impatiently. Their eyes met but she stared him down, her own aflame, and he realized that she wasn’t going to let it go. “I can’t stand the way you look at me after what I did to Will,” he blurted.

“After you… What?” She recoiled away from him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she asked quietly. “You never even met Will…”

“I shot him with the flare gun,” he said wretchedly. “Because he was-“

“Stop!” She held out her hands, backing away from him. The horror in her eyes threatened to shatter what was left of his heart. “You think that things was… That _thing_ wasn’t Will!” she spat.

Her pain was a ghost, pulsing around her, grey and angry, and it threatened to obscure her completely.

Fitz got to his feet, following the tug of his heart, still bound to her. “Jemma…”

“You think that was _Will?!”_ she hissed. “That monster? You really think he’d try to hurt you? That if there was anything left of him in there-“

“No… no Jemma that’s not it,” he pleaded.

“You’ve been avoiding me all this time because of _this,”_ she stormed, grey turning to red, spearing out like a starburst. “Because you think you… what? You think I blame _you_ for what happened?” She smiled bitterly, shaking her head. “Fitz I’m not that naïve. I know whose fault this was. I know I did this.”

It was his turn to frown in confusion. “But I was the one who-“ The glare she shot him snapped his mouth shut and he knew better than to finish that sentence.

_“I_ left him there,” she said thickly. “When I saw the flare I ran and when he told me to keep going, that he’d distract it I…” Her lip trembled, tears spilling onto her eyelashes. “I let him. I left him there and ran to you instead. I wanted you so badly that I left him behind.” Her chest heaved, droplets rolling onto her cheeks. “You don’t know what it was like Fitz,” she croaked. “To lose you, to lose everything, it almost killed me.” Her mouth twitched up in a sad smile, her bright eyes landing on him. “And then you were there and I had everything I thought I’d never have again.” Her features twisted in pain. “I wasn’t thinking, when I reached for your hand. I was selfish. I didn’t deserve to have you back, not when it meant abandoning him.”

Her agony filled the room, choking them. “You didn’t have a choice,” he soothed, needing to dissipate it, desperate to help her.  

Jemma scoffed. “Of course I had a choice. I could have fought with him.”

“It would have killed you!” Fitz cried in alarm.

“It didn’t kill you,” she shot back. “You killed it. _It_ Fitz, not Will,” she added forcefully. “If you did it, I could have too. But I ran instead… I ran like a coward and left Will to die.” Her face crumpled and she wrapped her arms around herself, shaking as she tried to keep it together. “I left him to die,” she whispered. Choking out a sob, her legs gave way beneath her and she sank down to the floor, shoving her face into her knees as she wept.

Fitz was at her side in an instant, hesitating for only a brief moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. It made him sick, to see her like this, to know that he’d been a part of making her that way.

She was mumbling something, her words rendered unintelligible as she drowned in her own tears, but Fitz managed to make out a few of them.

“D-don’t… don’t deserve for you to l-l…. to love me… what I did…. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry….” She gasped in a sharp breath, whimpering when he rubbed her arm. “I m-made…. Y- … you do everything and… d-didn’t even matter…. Almost k-killed you…. And he was already d-dead…” She whimpered, words turning into a whine.

At last, he could stand it no longer, and he took her into his arms, allowing her to lean against his chest, push her face into his shirt as he passed his hand over her back. “None of this is your fault,” he whispered. “This was Maveth and Hydra. They did this.” He wasn’t sure if believed that, that he himself was innocent, but Jemma thought he was and convincing her that _she_ was was more important right now.

“I left him…” she choked. “He was t-trying to protect me… how could I do that?”

_Sometimes there is no choice but the hard choice._ Coulson’s words came to him but he didn’t think they’d comfort her now.

“You made sure we went back for him,” he said instead. “You didn’t abandon him, it… think of it as a tactical retreat.” She snorted, unconvinced so he went on, his hand continuing to trace its path down her back, over and over in a loop that had become as automatic as it was deliberate. “If you’d gone back and fought it, you’d both have been stranded there, maybe hurt, and then neither of you would have had a chance. But you didn’t go back, you came home and you found… er… reinforcements.”

“I was too late,” she whispered into his shirt.

“How do you know you wouldn’t have been too late anyway?” he asked gently. She tilted her head up at him, sniffing. “Sometimes… sometimes we don’t have any good choices.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” she said flatly.

He shook his head stubbornly. “You’re not giving yourself enough.”

“You never do,” she countered. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes and she hid herself again in his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry Fitz.”

Fitz was baffled by her apology, what did she have to be sorry for? “For what?” he asked.

She didn’t speak for several seconds, the only sound between them her ragged breathing. “For needing you,” she whispered at last. “It isn’t fair. I don’t deserve it and I keep hurting you.”

The words were like a punch to the stomach. This was why she’d been pulling away from him he realized, not because she blamed him but because she was ashamed. All this time she’d been too frightened to reach out to him, her best friend, right when she’d needed him most and what had he done to stop it? Absolutely nothing, all he’d done was make it worse, so wrapped up in his own problems that he couldn’t imagine any other reason she’d draw away, so unable to _see_ her that he’d missed it. Instead of helping her through, he’d hurt her even more, fuelled her guilt, made her think that _he_ was the one upset with her.

How many times had they done this to each other? How many times had he hurt her because the cruel voices in his head were too loud for him to hear her calling out to him? It had to stop, right here and now. He didn’t want to be the reason she was in pain, he wanted to be the thing that fixed it and he was beginning to see that the first step in doing that was being honest with each other.

“You deserve to be happy,” he said firmly. “And you’ll always have me there to fix it with you. Because that’s what we do, yeah? We fix things… together.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she muttered.

“Yes you do,” he asserted. “You didn’t do anything wrong Jemma.” She pushed further into his chest but he took her shoulders, gently easing her back. “Look at me.” Hesitatingly, she obliged, blinking back more tears when he smiled at her. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated. “Try saying it out loud.”

She shook her head. “Only if you’ll say that you didn’t kill Will.”

Her gaze burned into his, adamantly refusing to let the matter slide and he sighed. It was difficult to keep eye contact as he spoke, but he managed it. “I didn’t kill Will.”

Jemma stared him down, not entirely believing that he meant it, which was fine because he wasn’t entirely sure that he had. Then she bit her lip, steeling herself. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

It was a lie, from both of them, but it was a start at least, and this time when he smiled she smiled back. “We can’t keep hiding things from each other,” he told her softly. “If we do… I don’t know if we’ll…”

“If we do we’ll just keep falling apart,” she finished. He red cheeks were streaked with tears and her eyes were bloodshot, tired, but her mouth set in a determined line.

“I want you to tell me everything,” he went on. “Everything you need to talk about, I’ll listen, I promise I’ll listen. I want to understand.”

“You don’t want to hear everything,” she muttered, looking away. “I can’t… I can’t tell you about Will…”

“Yes you can,” he told her confidently.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

“You won’t,” he promised. She shot him a look, unconvinced. “OK… It’s true I don’t exactly _like_ what happened,” he admitted. “But it happened Jemma. It’s a part of you and I want to know all of you. Will you let me?”

Her eyes were shining. “Yes,” she agreed. “But only if you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you. If we want this to work, you need to be honest with me too.”

“This?” he questioned, not understanding.

She cast her gaze down to her hands, cheeks flushing. “Us… if… if you want that…” She swallowed, eyes round as she glanced back up at him.

_Us?_ As in… as in them? As in together? She still wanted that? Even after all that had happened? Could it really be that simple?

Her face crumpled, mistaking his hesitation for a no and she broke his gaze, looking sick. “Oh…” Her lip wobbled, tears welling up. “I- I understand.” She squeaked.

“No,” he said quickly. He took her by her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs over her shirt. “Jemma, no. I didn’t mean no. I want that…  You have no idea how much.”

“You do?” she asked hopefully, a bubble in her throat. “You still want to after…”

“I never stopped,” he told her.

Her mouth turned up in a watery smile and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his chest. Her shoulders shook and it took him a few seconds to realize that she was laughing.

“We’re so… stupid...” she wheezed. “All this time…. And neither of us saw it….” Sobering a little, she pulled back to smack his arm. “Stop being stupid.”

“Me?” he cried, indignant. “I thought you said _we_ were being stupid.”

“Well then we _both_ need to stop,” she asserted. “After all we’ve been through, I’m not losing you because we can’t talk to each other. It’s not fair.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed. They smiled at each other, content, until he remembered that the door was still locked. “Er... should I?” he offered, jerking his head towards it when she rose her eyebrows questioningly.

“I guess you should,” she conceded, far less enthusiastic about leaving than she’d been only a few minutes ago. Her smile returned, a glint in her eyes. “We should make pancakes.”

“What?” What was she talking about? “Don’t you have an experiment?”

“I already need to start over,” she told him, waving dismissively. “And it’s nearly dinner time and I haven’t had our pancakes in _ages.”_

“They really are the best pancakes,” he agreed, sunshine spilling into his chest.

“Of course they are, our system is perfect,” she said cheerfully. Her eyebrows rose. “So…?”

The conversation wasn’t over, and there was still so much more they needed to fix, but he hadn’t felt hope like this in months. Maybe they really could do this, maybe they could be OK. Pancakes seemed like a good place to start anyway.

“I’ll fire up the grill,” he said warmly, and he was sure he could see the sun in her eyes as her smile reached up into them.

/-/-/

Later that evening, two figures stood watching the cooking pair. When Fitz flipped one of the pancakes, letting it spin a few times in the air before it landed, and Jemma rolled her eyes as the display, the one on the left chuckled.

“I told you it’d work,” Daisy mused. “Sometimes people just need a little push in the right direction.” She mimed the action as she spoke, looking smug.

“Is that coming from your new experience as a leader?” Lincoln teased.

“Hey, Operation Closet Convo. was a huge success,” she defended.

“I still can’t believe we locked them in the isolation room,” Lincoln said, shaking his head.

Daisy shrugged, smiling at her friends. “I’d say it was worth it.” She wiggled her eyebrows, holding out a hand. “And you owe me twenty bucks.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is based off what I think could potentially be the issue in 3x11. I'm hopeful they do reach some form of understanding soon, but this my way of working through it in case they don't ;)
> 
> The title of this chapter is from the lyrics of the song Everybody's Got a Story by Amanda Marshall, which is basically about being unable to know what someone is thinking/feeling just by looking at them.


End file.
